Helpless
by Matrix-Twin1
Summary: Just a little POV from Spike's time in the Initiative... Might add more later, dunno.


Helpless... The thought drifted across his mind. He tried to follow it, chase it toward whatever dark corner it was fleeing to, but the men were all around and he couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Panic. Terror. Don't need to breathe, not now, not ever. Angelus, you killed the pain. Stopped the breath. Yes. Pain. Panic. Terror. Panicterrorpanic. No. Not now, not ever. Never ever ever again you promised. No more. You told me it would stop. Not human, don't need to be afraid anymore of the dark I am the dark I killed it long ago when it took me. But...

Eyes rolling. Can't move. Can't breathe. Don't need to, but needing it still. Men closing in, just like before. Taunting, calling, hurting threatening. NOT HUMAN! Pain still. Dru... Whisper whisper whisper to the moon, tell the men to go away, they're frightening me. Angel, you told me it was over. But it's not. Why...?

Pain. Light. Sun? Dying, one final time. Peace at last. No more waiting. No more fear. But the men, they're still there. Tied down. Holding a knife? Can't think. Questioning forever into the blackness. Voices. Not really there. Not here, not there, no where. Can't go on like this, give up. Give in.

"It's awake."

"Does that change anything?"

"It shouldn't."

"Proceed."

The man wore a white coat, staring down at the vampire. '_so human... No. Not human. He...It's afraid.'_ "Turn it over."

Two soldiers moved closer, warily lifting the drugged hostile. It was heavier than it looked. Roughly, they flipped the man...not a man...over, exposing the back of his head.

It just felt so wrong, he looked so human... The demons, the non-human ones, it was so much easier. He didn't like this, not at all. No matter. A quick slice into the vampire's scalp, not watching him twitch in pain, it was done. He turned away. Couldn't let himself feel.

Awake... A face, so violent, frantically trying to kill everything to make the pain stop, the fear end... At peace. Not quite awake. So gentle looking, soft skin, whiter than marble complexion, rich, bleached hair swept back.. He looked so peaceful. One black nailed hand curled, like a sleeping child. Twitching softly, returning to life. Thoughts drifting by like clouds. Tell me what that one looks like...

"Slayer." One word, it was enough. It had to be her, all her fault that he was...here. Here? Didn't make sense, I don't know where here is. Tell me? Open your eyes, see for yourself. White. White like the heart of the sun that had killed him for forsaking it. Still not over. An eternity of damnation. Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. Glass. Himself again.

Spike stood up, the pain, terror all but forgotten. He ignored the lingering ache in his head, striding confidentely toward the glass wall. How thick were these people? Any old human could break glass, let alone... Blue lightening shot across the wall, converging on his hands. He felt himself thrown backwards, hitting the opposite wall of the tiny cell. Stepping forward, more cautiously this time, he gazed through the glass, watching streams of humans, vampires, demons, all rushing past. Ignoring him. Looking as far as possible without touching the glass, Spike could just make out more cells on either side of his own, and across. The place was obviously huge. One man walked past, actually looking at the cells, not simply on his way somewhere else.

"Ah, Hostile 17. Good to see you're awake. Now the fun begins."

Flattening himself against the back wall, Spike allowed his fear to contort his face, snarling.

The human shook his head, seeming like he would start laughing any second. "Animals. That's all you are, just a bunch of animals."

Defeated, Spike allowed his shoulders to sag, dragging the rest of him to the floor, curled into himself to make the world go away. With a soft whoosh, the glass wall opened, allowing the man to step in. Spike didn't even look up as the man approached. Everyone, even vampires, can only handle so much fear, rage and shock. He was gone...

_"Darla, I brought you someone..."_

_"Oh, Angelus, how nice of you! But, ugh, I know him."_

_"Oh, do you now. Well, I'll just be having him myself, then."_

_Darla frowned, shifting to vamp-face. "No, I'll be glad to see him die." She stepped toward the prostrate blonde, cowering on the floor._

_"How exactly do you know him?" _

_"Oh, he's a poet. A dreadful one. I've seen him around. They call him William the Bloody. As in Bloody Awful."_

_Angelus smiled his crooked smile, glancing at the petrified human. "Interesting... Shall we turn him? Could be good for some amusement around here..."_

_Darla inclined one graceful hand to the trembling figure, turning away as though bored beyond words. "If you want, darling..."_

_Pain. An eternity of death. No more fear._

"This one's a bit of a coward, it seems..."

"Oh well, either way he won't be killing anymore. Besides, they're all cowards, feeding off the weak."

"True. You can take him back now, we're done with him."

Pacing. He was an animal, they were right. But he was no coward. The time for fear was over. Now, he was pissed. But he was hungry, blood singing everywhere, singing a sweet song that only Dru could hear, but she told him... He realized he was eyeing his arm. Shaking the offending limb, hiding it behind his back, he observed the glass wall cautiously, contemplating trying to shatter it again. Shaking his head furiously, he continued pacing, trying so hard not to think. _It sings to me, can't you hear it? No, luv, it's not real..._ He pressed his hands to his head, trying to block the memories, the hunger, the pain, the fear... On and on and on. With a wet splat, a packet of blood landed in front of him. Glancing up, he saw the little trap door it had fallen from closing.

He shrugged, scooping up the pouch. Just about to sink his teeth into it, he heard a voice. Thinking it was just his imagination, he ignored it, preparing to tear the plastic. The next words caught his attention.

"It's drugged!"

Moving closer to the wall the voice was coming from, he made a half-hearted show of talking for a while. The second sentence had told him everything he needed to know. Making sure none of the commando-types were passing, he tore a hole (with his hands, couldn't pass out again) in the pouch, pouring the blood, wistfully, into one of his pockets. Dropping the empty packet on the floor, he allowed himself a dramatic swoon onto the floor beside it. The fear was gone. He was back. In control. And pissed beyond their wildest dreams.


End file.
